White Collar: Things to Know in New York When You're Gone
by Ruahnna
Summary: Revelations abound at the Burke household. First, Peter had to tell Elizabeth about the Raphael and all the drama that went with it, but that was the easy part. The hard part is telling her what happened the next day-the day Neal ran, and Peter helped him.


White Collar: Things to Know in New York When You're Gone (Judgment Day tag)

There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. There are things we don't know we don't know.

Donald Rumsfeld

There is a quality to an unhappy silence that a happy silence does not possess. Elizabeth had used every offer of comfort at her disposal, but she had known from the beginning that none of them would salve this wound, that no balm would lessen this ache. She did what there was left to do, and sat down beside her husband on the edge of the bed. She hesitated, not sure whether to reach for his hand and intrude on his grief, but he flicked a glance her way, tried a smile that didn't come off and took her hand in his.

"He trusted me," Peter said.

She did not rush in with vapid assurances. "Of course he did," El said at last. "Neal _should have_ trusted you."

"I'm not so sure."

There wasn't anything to say to that, or rather, there was _everything_ to say to that, but none of it mattered, none of it would _mean_ to Peter at this moment. She could have bowled him over with her arguments, persuading him for (or against), but none of it would help—not _now_, not _yet_. She leaned against him, making sure he felt the warmth of her body at shoulder, hip, knee. She was here, and she would be here—would be here until it was enough. She saw Peter's mouth twitch into that almost-smile again, and his hand tightened around hers.

"It was me," Peter said at last. "_I_ told him."

El was still for a moment, trying to think this through. "You told him what Phil was up to?" At the first name of his former mentor, Peter flinched, and El made a note not to use it again.

"Not exactly," Peter said. His mind seemed far away, but the grip of his hand, while still firm, was no longer _desperate_ and he was at least beginning to talk about it. Elizabeth waited, letting his words come out as they would.

It had been a frenetic day all around, with a bitter conclusion, and the dust had not even started to settle. Although no one had thought today would top the previous day in terms of sheer panic, no one had expected the bone-gnawing tension that had gripped them all since noon the previous day. _That_ had been a day for it as well—the day that had _started_ the free fall into today's oblivion.

Yesterday, Peter had been quite late coming home, his message to her telling her not to expect him for supper cryptic. Elizabeth tried to take the text as a _good_ sign, hoping that Peter was tying up loose ends for Neal's commutation, but as the hours had wound down, her hopes that the delay was positive had flagged.

When he _had_ finally come through the door he was both exhausted and strung with nervous energy. She had managed to put a sandwich in his hand and he had eaten it without tasting it, but he had at least taken a couple of good pulls from the cold beer she had pressed on him. He had paced the kitchen like a wild animal, tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned as though he couldn't get enough air as he told her everything -_everything-_that had happened that day—the ferry, the mysterious woman on the island, the painting, Sara's role in all of it, Sterling Bosch's smug satisfaction at the return of the painting, Kramer's fury and promise of retribution.

She had been privately horrified, knowing full well how formidable Kramer could be, assuming, like Peter had assumed, that the target of all the fallout would be _him_—_his_ career, _his_ head on a plate. Kramer had been gunning for Neal for leverage to take him into his own custody, but now he was gunning now for Peter as well—for revenge. Although he had not said it yet and Elizabeth had not asked, they both assumed that they would be drowning their sorrows the following day in rum cake—and quite possibly in the unemployment line. Still, between that and watching an unwilling, captive Neal being packed off to D.C., rum and unemployment sounded like a pretty good option.

"He's not going to try to get you _fired_. Hughes _knows_ you're too valuable," El had said finally, and Peter had only looked at her, a half-smile on his lips.

"Hughes has my back, but I've backed _him_ up against a wall more than once these past two years. I'm not going to ask him to go to bat for me on what I did with the Raphael."

"It wasn't illegal," El insisted.

"It might have been," Peter said with a grim chuckle. "Parts of it, anyway."

"Well, even if it _was_ illegal, then I'm sure it was the _right_ thing. You would never do anything that wasn't on the right side of justice."

Peter had stopped his pacing, cupped her face in his hands and _kissed_ her, swiftly and thoroughly. It took her breath away, but some of the tension seemed to ease out of Peter's shoulders. "Have I mentioned that you are the most amazing wife on the planet?" he'd asked.

"Once or twice," she said, smiling, "but I'm not saying that because I'm your wife." She saw his look, the shadow of doubt on his face, and she grabbed his tie and a handful of his shirt to keep him from moving away. "I'm _not_," she said. "I'm saying it because it's true. Because that's the way you _are_."

"El…."

"_Every_body knows it," she said simply. "It's why Neal trusts you. It's why Hughes trusts you, why Diana—"

"Okay," Peter said. "Okay." He bit his lower lip, fretting. "So I'm up for Eagle Scout. Kramer doesn't think so."

Here, El hesitated. She had not known Phil until she and Peter had been engaged. While she knew the relationship had been important, had been _formative_ for Peter as an agent, she had been somewhat surprised when she finally met the man. He was cultured, charming, intense—very likeable—and yet…and yet there had been a sort of coiled readiness in the man that she had not particularly liked. He had a way of manipulating a conversation—and the people in it—that she found disquieting. She had spent the better part of the last twelve years as the partner, then wife of an FBI agent, so_ driven-ness_, per se, did not offend her sensibilities. She had come home to their living room or kitchen practically _radiating_ testosterone—or whatever it was—and it had never bothered her, so it wasn't _that_. Still, the first time she had looked into Phil Kramer's eyes she had wondered what he was _really_ thinking, what he was _really_ after. She had wondered that same thing every single time since.

His conversation was light, lithe and designed to charm, but the design was perhaps too obvious. Even Neal's facile charisma and magnetism had a more…_personal_ quality. She had liked the man—for Peter's sake—but it was for Peter's sake that she also kept her own opinions about his mentor to herself.

"Kramer's just upset because he's disappointed. He's ambitious—"

Peter's laugh was hollow. "And how!" He paced again, and El got out of his way, leaning against the sink. "But the thing about it that really…_torques_ me is—is that he couldn't just come out and _say_ 'I've got designs on your CI and I'd like to make him an offer.' No—no, he had to do it under the guise of _protecting_ me—"

He'd stopped so suddenly that El thought that his phone must have rung, but no, he was shaking his head, his mouth falling open. He turned to stare at her with his brows raised and his eyes bright. "Oh…."

"What? Hon, what _is_ it?"

With effort, Peter close his mouth, put his hands on his hips, paced some more and finally stopped in front of her and huffed out some air. "I just realized something," he said. His chagrin was palpable, but El didn't know the source and did not want to hazard a guess. She waited, letting him tell her in his own time. She knew from his expression that he was processing some unfamiliar thought, turning over some new revelation to see it from different angles.

"I…I just realized how many times I did the same thing to Neal." His voice was sober, grave.

"You _did not_," El said indignantly. "That is _not at all_ what you did to Neal." Her lovely face was flushed.

"I manhandled him, El. Told him it was for his own protection." His expression was troubled.

"That's not the same thing!" she insisted. "It's _not_. You _do_ want to protect Neal, and, what's more—you _do protect him_." She reached out gently and touched his cheek, her hand cool on his fevered skin. Peter smiled and pressed her palm again his cheek but he was too restless to stand, pacing the length of the kitchen again. _At this rate, we'll need new linoleum before the week is out_, she thought, and her heart gave a great heave of affection for the man she had married

"I _have_," Peter said thoughtfully. "I _have_ managed to keep Neal out of trouble. Mostly." His smile was bleak.

"Mostly," she said, smiling at him.

"But I don't even know if I can keep _myself_ out of trouble this time. Kramer was pretty P.O.'d."

"You didn't antagonize him, though, Honey," El offered. She bit her lip. "Did Neal?"

"No." This elicited the first real smile she'd seen. "Neal was very well behaved after I took the cuffs off and sent him home—"

"They put _cuffs_ on him?" Her voice was furious, her blues eyes snapping.

Peter shook his head. "No. _They_ didn't. _I_ did." His eyes were blazing.

"Oh…Peter…." She knew how much that must have hurt both of them.

"Yeah," Peter said, taking in some air again. "I cuffed him while he looked at me with those big cow eyes of his and _apologized_—"

"Apologized?!" El said, astounded. "_Oh_…."

"Yeah," said Peter. He looked raw and wounded. "Not in so many words, but…yeah. He's been doing a lot of that lately, since—"

She shushed him by pressing close, kissing his cheek. "I know. But I'm fine now. Fine." She looked at him, brushed the hair back from his brow. "And he _apologized_. Oh, Peter—I'm so proud—"

"Yeah, he's coming around—"

"Of _you_."

"Of _me_?" He looked at her, astounded. "Why _me_?"

"Because he never would have gotten there without you."

Peter opened his mouth to argue and found that he could not. Two years ago, Neal _admitting_ what he did was wrong was huge—_apologizing for it_ was next to impossible. "Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "I—you're right."

"I _am_ right," Elizabeth said. She had put her arms around him and kissed his cheek, his jaw, the soft spot behind his ear. He'd closed his eyes and leaned into her embrace, finally turning and catching her mouth under his.

"El," he'd murmured into her hair. "El…will you still love me if I lose my job?"

"I will still love you if you lose everything," El had said firmly. "But you can't lose everything, because you'll always have me."

She had a way of saying things that made them so, and Peter had never appreciated it more than now. He let her hold him, let her press her warmth and solace into his skin while they stood there in the kitchen.

"Kramer was pretty mad," Peter said, the anger tinged with sadness. It is hard to see your heroes fall. "He's after Neal, but he'll probably end up taking it out on me."

"We can take it," said El. "We're tough."

His mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Yeah," Peter said. "We sure are."

_That_ had not been a good night, but it had been far and away better than _this_ one was going to be. Haltingly, with frequent bursts of profanity and pacing, Peter managed to give her a chronological report of what happened. Now they were just filling in the gaps and commiserating.

"I—oh, Peter, do you think he got away?"  
"They haven't found him yet." There was both hope _and_ defiance in his voice.

"What about Mozzie? Do you think he's _with_ Neal?"

"I'm sure of it. No footage yet from the airports, but we've tracked a taxicab that took Mozzie to the airport."

"Any sign of Neal?"

"Independent taxi, we think," Peter said. "Either that, or the man is too well paid off to rat on him."

"Gotta love a man with integrity," El murmured, and Peter smiled in spite of himself.

"Here's hoping," he said.

Elizabeth shifted beside him, her expression hard to read. Peter caught the look and did a double take, eyebrows rising.

"What?" he said. "What are you thinking?"

She was silent, trying to decide if she really wanted to ask this, but Peter smiled, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners, and he shook their clasped hands.

"C'mon—out with it," he insisted. "You have that look. You want to ask me something."

"Well," she said, still hesitating. "I do and I don't."

Peter waited, giving her a chance to find her words.

"You said something earlier, and I…well…."

"Go on." His voice was gentle, even as he steeled himself for what she might say. El was always kind, but she didn't pull her punches, and she knew him like a well-worn book.

"You said, 'He trusted me.'"

"I did," Peter said, his expression wan. "And you agreed with me."

"I did." Her smile was fleeting. "Do you mean he trusted you to make the commutation come out okay? Is that what's bothering you?"

Peter shook his head, eyes wide. "No. I—Neal knew that wasn't up to me. I mean, yes—I did have a large say in what happened, well, what _would_ have happened if Neal hadn't run."

"Then what did you mean? Neal trusted you and…what?"

Peter opened his mouth and shut it. He cleared his throat and swallowed, then took a deep breath, chewed his lower lip. "I—El, I _told_ Neal to run."

There had been a lot of revelations in the past two days, but this one topped them all. Elizabeth stared at him, her mouth dropping open.

"You…you _told_ him to run? You said, 'Run away—Kramer's going to try to haul you to Washington in handcuffs?' and he…he ran?"

"He did," Peter acknowledged. He clasped his hands and stared at them. "I mean, we weren't close enough to talk." He let that sink in, thinking of the last conversation they'd had face-to-face. _When this is over, I'll tell you everything. What on earth did __**that**__ mean?_

"So you couldn't even…" Elizabeth curled her fingers around his arm, wanting to hold onto something solid, to hold onto _him_. "What did you _do_?"

"I…Kramer had me cornered on the steps, flanked by those _damned—_" He broke off bitterly. "I was on my way in to the hearing, saw Neal coming around the monument..."

"And he saw you?"

"Not at first. It was just happenstance, a fluke. I saw him coming, heading straight toward Kramer and his goons."

El's heart gave a clench. Peter had never denigrated the other branches of law enforcement, even when they got in his way. It was a testament to how angry he was that he did so now.

"They didn't see him?"

He shook his head. "No. A stroke of that Caffrey luck. But I couldn't warn him, couldn't say…there was nothing I could do but watch him walk into it, and then…."

Elizabeth felt like cheering. "He _saw_ you?'

Peter nodded, his mouth twisted into a wry grimace. "He looked up…."

"And he saw you, but—"

"I couldn't—"

"But you couldn't talk to him," El said gently. Her hands on his arm were soothing.

Peter gave a half-smile. "No. I…shook my head and he…he just knew. He knew what I meant."

El had seen them do it too often to doubt that Neal had understood Peter perfectly, but she wanted to picture it in her head.

"You shook you head and Neal…_saw_ it. He understood what you meant."

"He cut his anklet and disappeared, didn't he?"

"And you think that's because—"

"No." Peter was adamant. "No—I don't _think, _El. I _know_. I _know_ he understood. He nodded, then he turned around and disappeared."

"Right before the hearing was over?"

Peter shook his head, staring at his clasped hands again. "No. Right before I testified."

El stared at him, her blue eyes dancing with delight. "Peter Burke—are you telling me that you went in to testify for Neal _knowing_ that he was going to make a run for it? That he was _already _making a run for it?"

"I am," Peter said. "El—it was the only way. Kramer would have—"

Peter stopped talking out of necessity because his wife's lips were suddenly over his, her arms around his shoulders as she settled into his lap.

"Such a wonderful man," she murmured between kisses. "Such a…such a _sneaky_, brave, _wonderful_ man." She came up for breath and let Peter do the same. "So…just when everything looked like it was going to work out, you gave him enough time to cut the anklet and run. That about it?"

His arms were fast around her. "Gosh, you're smart," he murmured. "That's about it."

"Does anyone else know?" He had told no one—no one at all except El.

"Nope. No one. Well, Dianna suspects, I'm sure, and Hughes probably thinks…well. Kramer was ready to haul _me_ off in handcuffs for…I don't know, obstruction or something. But yeah. I gave the signal and then covered his tracks."

"You know what?" El said. Her voice was full of pride and wonder. "I was absolutely right about you."

"And why is that?" said Peter. He did not know what she might say.

"Because I said you always do the right thing. And you did."

Peter was silent for a long moment. "Thanks, hon. I—"

"He's really gone," El said.

"Yes. I think so." Peter's voice was husky.

"But…?"  
"But…we'll see. With Neal…you just never know."

El draped her arms around her husband's shoulders. "And with _you_," she said simply. "I always do."

Taxi 3069bn


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